


Forever is Our Today

by FloofyFlower



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26624437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloofyFlower/pseuds/FloofyFlower
Summary: It's been six months since their date at The Ritz and Crowley is finally waking up from his deep rejuvenating slumber. Upon finding out that his angel has been taking care of things around his home, Crowley makes a visit to the bookshop with a surprise.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 80





	Forever is Our Today

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to my other short story "Don't Stay Away too Long." This title is from the lyrics of the song "Who Wants to Live Forever" by Queen. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!

Snake eyes pierce the darkness, blinking the bleary sleep away. With a deep sigh, Crowley sits up and gives a much needed stretch before running his fingers through his unruly hair which magically falls into its rightful style. The sleepiness only lingers for another moment, and then he is incredibly awake and there’s a scent in the air. He sniffs.  
“Angel?” He croaks, grimacing at the sound. He snaps his fingers and the lights come up, washing his bedroom in a pale glow. “Aziraphale, s’at you?” It’s certainly the right scent, but it's faint as if the angel has come and gone.  
Crowley focuses and sends out his invisible feelers, locating his angel at the bookshop. “Good, so still here on earth then.”  
Doing a quick mental check, he discovers that he’s been asleep for half a year. Not a new record, but it’s enough to make him feel rejuvenated. All of the Armageddon nonsense knocked his feet out from under him, and, if he could have any say about it, he’d rather not go through another round of Doomsday anytime soon. Looking down, he realizes someone has covered him up with the blankets. His eye catches something on his nightstand, and he reaches for the steaming cup of tea and takes his time drinking it.  
It’s Aziraphale’s special blend, and, well, he does enjoy it although he normally doesn’t ingest anything that’s not alcoholic.  
This is the exception, of course. The one exception.  
It really hadn’t been the almost Armageddon that sent him into exhaustion as much as it was the complete hollowness he felt when Aziraphale had been discorporated. He hadn’t felt that empty since before the whole Garden of Eden and the apple incident. Since before laying claim to a certain ethereal being. Thinking about that emptiness sends a pang of it through his chest like an echo, and he absently rubs his palm over his chest to scrub the memory away.  
Well, it was over now, wasn’t it? Angel was safe, he was still here on Earth anyway and doing what he loved to do.  
Crowley continues to sip the tea, leaning back against the headboard.  
It wasn’t just the emptiness though, it was the fear of losing Aziraphale during their body swap. The rib-cracking, lung-twisting fear that it wouldn’t work, that he would be the one to feel the angel die in such a manner. To be killed by the people who should have been on Aziraphale’s side.  
It was also the intoxicating anger that had nearly sent him at Gabriel’s throat.  
Crowley raises his eyebrows at the thought. “Well, that wouldn’t have gone particularly well anyway,” he mumbles, giving another sniff.  
All of those feelings had been primarily erased since he slept them off and felt like himself again. He could probably do a good bit of temptations and fiendish deeds. The demon finishes his angel’s tea and then pushes himself from the bed, the cup vanishing in the air. When he walks into the hallway, he’s dressed in his leather jacket and dark jeans.  
“And how have you all got on without me?” He asks, stepping into the room harboring his plants. The plants quiver a bit at his entrance, but they have nothing to worry about. They’ve all been kept watered and any blemishes they may have developed have been taken care of by an angel with miracle hands.  
“Suspicious,” Crowley hisses, eyes narrowing.  
Now, the plants begin to tremble more fervently.  
“If I find out that any of you got leaf spots while I was away, it’ll be a very bad day for you. Is that clear? Angel won’t always be here to clean up your pathetic messes.”  
The plants shake in response, and Crowley leaves them with the thought of impending doom.  
He goes to his office and gives a blink of his golden slit eyes and miraculously a blank snake-skin notebook appears on his desk. He has to repay Aziraphale somehow, doesn’t he? And he has been holding off on this gift for a while for many reasons. But now, those reasons don’t matter anymore. He can gift his angel anything he wants and won’t have to worry about Heaven or Hell intervening or destroying them.  
The only side that matters now is their own. He has eternity to make up for all the lost time, and this is how it begins.  
Resting his hand atop the closed cover, he feels the words seeping from him and inking their way onto the pages beneath.  
He’s kept these words locked up inside of him for so long, biding his time until the right moment to gift them to Angel.  
When the notebook is filled, he takes his hand away and the title is etched into the snake-skin in gold. With a satisfied smug grin, Crowley heads to the bookshop.  
  
  
It’s after hours, so the bookshop is closed to (human) customers. Aziraphale hums to himself, reshelving a stack of books that a customer suddenly found herself not wanting to purchase. It was hard for the angel to part with his books, so there were very few customers who actually left with any.  
Upon returning to his desk, he spots an unidentified snake-skin book lying where it hadn’t been before.  
“Well, hello,” Aziraphale muses to it, confused and intrigued all at the same time. “And what are you doing there--”  
His voice dies in his throat at the title, eyes widening.  
_Beowulf: The Complete Epic Poem_ is written in gold lettering. He knows the handwriting immediately.  
The angel sputters, rushing to pick it up. A smile breaks over his face. “Crowley!”  
“Y’know, Angel,” the demon croons from the arm chair by the fire, “You really shouldn’t spoil my plants s’much. They’ll go soft, y’know.”  
Aziraphale whirls around to Crowley, his face shining so bright that the demon has to close one eye against the shine. The warmth floods into him, and the memory of that horrid emptiness is all but forgotten.  
Crowley had helped create stars back when he was ethereal, as Aziraphale likes to call it, so he knows the warmth that they give off. When in Aziraphale's presence, it's like being in a galaxy full to the brim with them. It's like being home.  
“But how, this is incredible, how did you—What is this exactly? Is it truly—?” The angel rushes to sit in the opposite wing back chair, flipping the book open to take in all that he can.  
The demon watches leisurely as his angel stumbles and trips over his words in excitement.  
“Yes, yes, it’s the whole blasted poem. I know you’re into that sort of thing, so. . .S’no big deal, really, Angel.”  
“Oh, My Dear, it is absolutely wonderful! You have no idea how much this means to me—But hold on. How do you know the missing pieces? That’s to say, the lost sections? What I mean is, how do you know the story enough to fill in—“  
“Well, er, it just so happens that I was there when it was all thought up and created,” Crowley’s grin grows wicked, “Who do you think gave the idea for that Grendel fellow? Humans can barely think up names for their own children by themselves, for Heaven’s sake.” His tongue burns just slightly.  
At that, Aziraphale smiles fondly at him and runs his hands over the pages full of Crowley’s handwriting. He presses his nose to the snake-skin and inhales the familiar scent and exhales while holding Crowley’s gaze. “It is so lovely having you back, My Dear. I wasn’t sure how long you would be away this time. . .”  
“Sorry ‘bout the that, Angel,” Crowley offers sincerely, or as sincerely as a demon can, “Shall we celebrate our reunion? Tempt you to a spot of dinner, hm? My treat.”  
"That would be simply divine.” Aziraphale hesitates setting the book down, hating not having it in his possession and sight. He relents and places it back on his desk and aches for the opportunity to delve into the entire thing. He follows Crowley towards the door.  
They can both feel it, the start of everything to come.  
Crowley gingerly reaches back and takes his angel’s hand, and the demon’s skin ignites in a buzzing warmth. It's like the first sweet shock of touching a new star. Aziraphale instinctively lifts Crowley’s hand to his mouth and places a delicate kiss to the palm.  
A supernova explodes in Crowley’s chest.


End file.
